You’ve turned me one note. Suddenly, I only have sad stories to tell. Quiet, wounded cries into the night are all that I utter. I whimper like an offended mongrel. But a skipping record, and I’m the one who keeps returning the needle.
I want to believe what you say. I want to find some parity between your words and your stolen kisses. But your silence betrays you. You can keep your wine laden professions, all I need to know of you is borne out of your absence.
I find humorous ways to love the side of me that never matured past tender. I gaze with pity coated fondness at the naivete that has colored me gullible all my life. But at times it’s hard not to persecute its constant blind spots, its unyielding willingness to try, try again.
But I want to love you. I want to be carried around in a cradle of your ruby colored declarations. I want to lose myself in prophecies of our future. I want to believe what you say.